year gone by, a thick oil flow

close up from: dig down dig up, 2004 by helgi hjaltalins ejolfsdorfs

a year has run off through my fingers, like thick oil flow.

i tried to grasp withering and passing thoughts, brilliant at the peaks yet so quick to perish.  i thought of many things and a few of them has left themselves as hard, dormant seeds in my mind, waiting for time- to spring up, break through the thick husk, to grow, to carry on.  somewhere along the line, i have lost a few things and i wonder what other things i may have lost and just never realized. or have not realized yet.

i have wiped peoples' tears and i shed a few, trying to contain the little wells of sorrows that sprung up from the bottom of my heart- but they overflowed. gracing down my face, onto the void, where all sorrowful thoughts go.  perhaps waiting to be covered with dust, to be dried up.  i have put away things then opened boxes that has been forgotten, rediscovering the quiet yet vivid thoughts that waited patiently in the silence, for a human touch.

i looked up for the fragments of life that i desperately wanted for no particular reasons, in the vast sea of internet, unbounded vast plains and skies of my dear friends' hearts.  and a few i have picked up from the street, lost yet vivid among the shuffling busy feet.  i kept them dear to my heart, in the back pocket of my pants, often forgetting to get these small reminders out from the perils of washing machines.  a year that was jagged, perhaps difficult.

a year that flowed like oil.

i wished perhaps that it would be nicer if it flew away like a small bird. a chirp, a spring, then the only thing that remains is the lone tree branch, gently resonating from the sudden departure of the wee bird, no longer there to be seen.

happy anniversary to my wee brother gabe, on the day he has left us to stay forever young.  a small circle around the sun, said the earth- 'i have done this so many times.'  i also have done it many times, like a child in the playground, holding out a stick, going round and round, making lopsided circles on the dirt ground, till it gets silly enough to fall over and laugh.

those lopsided circles are just like the year ring on the trees, life changed, pressed and kept close to heart.  though the circles on dirt will disappear under the busy feet of the children, returning, then leaving, replaced by another generation of young ones, the tree rings will survive long after the tree has lived and died.  for the others to trace, with bare fingers. legacy.

even the silent genius of charlie chaplin sang with his heart- not with words, not with his gestures, but with a small melody, encouraging all of us to carry on with a bit of emptiness in our hearts- and yes, sky is still there. i will keep my head up, your heart carried in mine.  at all days.  even when it aches.  happy one year anniversary, wee brother.

smile through your heart is aching
smile even though it's breaking
when there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
if you smile through your fear and sorrow
smile and may be tomorrow
you will see the sun come shining through for you...
(from smile; text by john turner and geoffrey parsons, music by charlie chaplin)

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